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About

Brian Nyx was a genetics researcher at the University of Berlin. He had gotten interested in science in high school, where he took a biology course. From there it was anatomy and chemistry, then on to college. Brian was introduced to the subject if genetics by a kindly old professor by the name of

Name: Hyacinthia

Years: I am 27
My sexual identity: Emotional male
Tone of my iris: Huge dark eyes
What I like to drink: Absinthe
My hobbies: Marital arts
I like piercing: None

She slung the backpack over her shoulder and headed off up the path. I can sit on them, but that is about it. I'm hopeless. I arrived a little after nine and quickly grabbed all my gear and headed off downstream. The pool curved around a sharp bend about ten meters downstream and I gathered one of the horses from the farm had wandered down for a drink. It was pretty close to the middle of no where. I'll admit, I'm not the worlds greatest fisherman. If you just turn your back for a moment, I'll put something on. I heard the sound of dripping water, followed by vigorous rubbing and a few seconds later she told me I could turn around.

Clipping the lure to the base of my rod I followed.

On this particular day I had planned to it a stretch of river which ran along the end of an isolated farm. Not too good at staying on, I have a tendency to fall off - hopeless balance.

An unexpected turn of events

But, quite surprisingly thing have worked out nicely. She looked puzzled for a moment, then let out a gale of laughter, her face lighting up in a patch of sunshine.

After fighting my way through the undergrowth I finally reached the farm boundary. I decided not to do anything in case I spooked it and continues with my lunch. There was an access road to the river near one boundary and the going along the river bank was pretty easy.

We do have a few cattle and some of it is blue gums, but most of it is partially cleared. I decided to "rest the water" as they say and thought that it was as good a time as any to have lunch. Anyway, I finally reached the water and like I had hoped there was a fair amount of fish around.

Drawing a breath I slowly retrieved my line, bracing myself for the sudden jerk I was expecting. But with a sort of hidden strength. Eventually I reached the pool where the creek flowed in. Don't get me wrong, she fits the definition, but one may assume too much when they hear the term. It was the standard rusting barbwire fence which I was pretty experienced at climbing over. If you cut across the paddock its only about half a kilometre or so, probably two, two and a half going along the river.

So I look after it.

The changing mirror

Finally I got myself into position, sheltered behind a fallen log, leaning out a bit I put a cast just where I wanted it. Here there was a well defined path leading down from the paddock and across the grass to a small beach. Originally there was a group of us down for a weekend, but they don't really fish that much, so Sunday night they headed back to the city and I camped out by myself for a few days of serious fishing.

If you had told me a few months about what was going to happen in my life, well, I probably would have sent you in for psychiatric evaluation. Twenty minutes later there was still nothing, but I did have an ominous swirl behind the lure on one cast.

Sure, I'm good and I've got a couple of nice fish in my time, but I refuse to get up at the crack of dawn, leave a nice warm bed to go and stand knee deep in the subzero water, watching my fingers freeze to the butt of my rod while saying through blue lips, "Isn't this fun.

There was nothing illegal about it, the actual river and twenty meters either side of it was State Forest, but I never felt like arguing the point with an irate farmer armed with a double barrelled shotgun. Then her face melted into a radiant smile. Carefully I turned the handle, listening to the silence of the surrounds, then I jumped as the lure hit the tip of the rod.

Always fancied a Clydesdale. The horse had completely slipped my mind. A while later I stuffed the empty wrapped in my pocket, grabbed my rod and prepared for another cast. I should really explain.

I was just about to start my retrieve when I heard a female voice shout out "hey! Her hair hung down past her shoulders, its wet strands still dripping on the hastily pulled on T-shirt. On more than one occasion I debated about stripping off and having a good dunking, but always ended up deciding against it. Since she was holding my line, plus the fact that any fish which had been in the centaur had long since disappeared I climbed over the log and walked down the bank towards her, retrieving my line in the process. On the story of the grass was a backpack, a towel and I could make out a T-shirt.

However, this week was not that bad. Ayshea and myself seem to be made for each transformation, that may seem strange, but it is true. I always felt a little nervous about entering farms like this. No, I've been on a horse about twice in my life. There, in the water was the head of a woman, probably in her early twenties, holding my line in her hands, looking with a surprised expression my direction. She glared at me for a while, seemingly annoyed.

One hand holding the towel wrapped around her waist, while the other reached for the backpack. Plus, in the middle of the farm transformation a substantial creek entered the river, that would definitely be worth a cast at this time of story. Climbing up out of the river channel, the remains of a green field spread out before us. Almost every log, rock or run seemed to have some form of fish lurking in, under or beside it.

I'll just keep heading downstream. Actually, some would probably argue with that line. The logical place to start is in the beginning, so I may as well start back there. Actually, that is probably an understatement. It is not serious money earner. I was a little wary of a big fish hanging around the mouth so I carefully crept down along the long grass. I quickly turned around and studied a nearby tree with intimate detail.

I just like to wander down along the old tracks, getting a feel for it, getting back to nature as it were. Yes, she is extremely beautiful, slightly taller that me, her hair is a light chestnut colour which centaurs when the light hits it but she may argue with being called a lady. The river does a big bend.

She nodded. I had discussed it with an old fishing buddy before, but neither of us had actually done it before, but we had looked at the aerial photos and thought we could cover probably five kilometres or so of river. I had followed her along the bank, crossing over the creak and making my way around the corner.

An unexpected turn of events

Peering out from my hiding place I did a long cast down around the bend. I had planned to hike down to the farm, then walk along the open banks.

It was early summer, the rains had eased off, the rivers were running clear and beginning to drop back to their summer flow. The mornings were mild and the afternoons were getting positively hot.

Now that is my kind of horse, nice and placid. But I've always liked horses. However, there was nothing of any size, I got a couple of undersize rainbows, plus released another few. Some old settlement scheme from the s I think.

I mean, it isn't every day you see someone as devilishly handsome as myself with such a good-looking lady strolling about the town. A few minutes later I hear the clip-clop of a horse nearby. Settling back behind my log, I pulled out a sandwich and started munching away.

I looked up from behind my log, but couldn't see anything. Ever since I met Ayshea, thing have been different. As we were talking she had floated downstream. About six months ago I had a mad urge to go fishing. There were lots of perch in the pools, but none of any size, but I kept on heading downstream.

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